


Teach Me

by NyxErchomai



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fight Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:11:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6372436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxErchomai/pseuds/NyxErchomai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank teaches Karen how to fight. It ends, predictably, with sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teach Me

**Author's Note:**

> It's 12:40am and I'm sick of looking at this, so enjoy.

After throwing Karen to the ground and shielding her from the rain of bullets, Frank has to take action. Karen might have a gun, and a serious set of balls, but she's still untrained. She tells him she would have taken the shot, but he knows better than anyone that hesitation will be the death of her.

When he picks her up from the hotel, hot-wires the car she's so sensitive about, he doesn't take her immediately to the diner. Instead, he drives her to a warehouse, abandoned and isolated.

Karen stares at him with wide, fear-filled eyes. “What are we doing here?” she asks tentatively, eyeing the gun at his side with trepidation. “Relax,” Frank tells her gruffly. “I told you I wouldn't hurt you.” 

Karen shoots him a look that is clearly sceptical, but says nothing. And in a huge display of trust, she follows him to the warehouse. He has to shoot a chain off a door, and throw his weight against it to break the lock; Karen watches impassively, looking around periodically in case someone shows up. 

No one does, and soon they're standing in inky blackness. Karen sticks close to the door, her heart in her throat, and she flinches sharply when Frank leans towards her. She hears him scoff lightly, reach beyond her and flick a switch. Dull fluorescents flicker, hurting Karen’s eyes, before settling. The warehouse is as expected; the remnants of pallets, cardboard boxes and packing goods are littered on the floor, but it is otherwise empty.

Frank is staring at the warehouse floor with his jaw locked. “This’ll do,” he says shortly, and strides forward, dumping his ever-present duffel in the approximate centre of the concrete floor.

Karen steps forwards hesitantly, still wary. “Frank, what are we doing here?”

Rifling through the contents of his bag, Frank pulls out a handgun. With a small gasp, Karen steps backwards, hand flying to her mouth. Seeing her reaction, Frank rolls his eyes.

“Jesus, _relax_ ,” he tells her again, before handing her the gun grip-first. She takes it shakily, being careful to avoid touching him. If he notices, he doesn't acknowledge it. Instead he stands, indicates for her to lift the gun. Karen does, pointing it at one of the crates to her right.

“Your grip is good,” Frank says, moving closer. “But your stance is too heavy. You gotta be light. Move your feet further apart.”

Karen obliges, and he steps forward quickly to push her feet even further apart with his own. Karen resists the urge to flinch from him. She takes a shuddering breath instead, and allows him to adjust her posture. His hands are on her hips, turning them, then on her shoulders, pulling them back. Every point of contact burns.

“I got no bullets for that gun,” Frank tells her. “You'll have to practise that in your own time.”

“If the point was to teach me how to shoot, why didn't you bring bullets?” Karen asks sardonically. “And I already know how to shoot.”

“Everybody knows how to shoot. It's shooting good that's the hard part. For that you need proper form. Now you know it, you can practice with it.”

“Okay, so that's it? Why'd we have to come here just for you to show me how to stand?”

Frank makes a low grumbling noise, exasperated. “That wasn't all,” he says, and squares his hips. When he raises his fists, Karen’s shock and fear is obvious.

“Take me down,” he tells her.

She shakes her head almost imperceptibly, strawberry blonde hair swishing. “I can't do that.”

Frank slides his right foot forward slightly, raising his fists higher. “You have to. If you want to be part of this, if you want to be on my side, then you have to.”

“No,” she whimpers. “I can't…”

“Then stop me,” he says, before lunging at her.

Karen shrieks and freezes, and Frank takes her down, albeit with much less force than he normally would. He shields her landing too, curls himself around her so he cops the brunt of the fall.

Karen scrambles to her feet, breathing heavily. “What the fuck!” she yells at him, eyes wild. “What is wrong with you, I don't want to—!” She shrieks again as he comes for her a second time. This time, she takes a wild dive out of his way, throwing herself to the floor. She scuttles backwards, away from him, but he turns on her again.

“Stop me!” he roars, and she screams and kicks out at him simultaneously, her now-bare foot glancing uselessly off his thigh. He falls artfully, catches himself, lands with his hands on either side of her head and his body arched over her like a cage.

“Good,” he says abruptly, breathing heavily. “Reacting is the first step. Freezing, like you did, that'll only get you killed.”

“Get off me,” she snarls, shoving at his chest. He's a solid mass above her though and, when he moves off, she knows it was because he chose to.

He stands, and assumes his fighting stance again. Karen lifts herself off the floor, but doesn't move beyond that.

“What do you want me to do?” She dusts her skirt off, looking around for the heel she had lost in her tumble.

Frank lowers his fists. “I want you to survive. I want you to walk away from this.”

“Yeah I got that,” she snarks, annoyed. “I meant what do you want me to do, right now? How do I stand, what am I meant to do?”

Frank might by surprised by her sudden change of heart, but he doesn't dwell on it.  
“Lose the other heel,” he tells her, and Karen kicks it off, out of the way. “Okay, now widen your stance. No, wider. Yeah, that's it. Keep on your toes, stay light. Now put your hands up. You can make fists or leave them open, but just keep them up.”

Karen complies, balling her hands into fists, feeling ridiculous. The concrete is cold beneath her feet, and uncomfortable. Squeezing her fists tighter, she takes a deep breath.  
“Now what?” she asks, and sees Frank's intention a split second before he moves.

She can't help the shrill cry, but she does try to hit him. He dodges easily, and knocks the wind out of her with an arm to her stomach. She doubles over, coughing, and he takes a few steps back.

“C’mon!” he says with feeling, sounding like a zealous gym coach and not a murderous vigilante. “Try and hit me.”

He stands in front of her, hands raised. He doesn't make a move towards her, and just gestures for her to come at him.

Karen hesitates, but knows she'll only end up doing it anyway. So she takes a swing, not quite serious, and Frank catches it, His hand is so big around hers, so strong. It deflates her.

“I can't fight you,” she says darkly. “I’m too weak. You're too strong.”

“Can't, can't, can't,” Frank mocks her, dropping her hand. “I don't give a shit about what you can't do. This is what you need to do. So do it!” His voice rises to a yell, and he jerks forward as if to attack her.

Unthinking, completely on instinct, Karen lashes out. She feels a swell of triumph, thinks for a second that she'll catch him unawares — but Frank slaps the strike aside, as easily as if he was batting away a fly. Infuriated, she swings with her other hand, a swift strike that Frank turns his head to avoid. Something snaps in her then, a flash of anger that blinds her, and she wails on him, swinging wildly and without reservation. She feels some of the hits connect, but Frank is dodging most, and redirecting the rest of them away from him body. Those that do hit don't do much damage, glancing off of his shoulders and chest, hurting her knuckles more than they seem to hurt him.

He says something after a moment, but her ears are roaring with blood and she can't distinguish the words. She's so frustrated, so sick of feeling helpless, and she just wants someone to _pay_ —

Frank's arms engulf her, trapping her arms against her body and it's then she realises she's crying, hot tears streaking down her face; she is shaking, her chest heaving, and she can hear the scratchy sobs she's emitting. For a second she struggles against Frank's grip, but when his fingers run soothingly through her hair, all the fight drains out of her. Her sobs double, despite her best efforts to stifle them, but Frank says nothing. He just continues to gently stroke her hair, murmuring things that are probably reassuring – but she can't hear any of it over the sounds of her own racing thoughts.

Frank holds her until her cries subside, keeps her head pressed against his collarbone. She can hear his breathing, can just faintly hear his heartbeat. He is a pillar of calm, and it forces her to calm down, too. She matches her breathing with his, focuses on the heartbeat she can feel beneath her palms, which are pressed against his chest. She has stopped crying, but she is reluctant to let go. But after a moment she does push away from him, wiping her eyes.

“Sorry,” she says softly. “I didn't mean to lose my head like that.”

“It was good,” Frank replies. “Uncontrolled, and crude, but you let go of your inhibitions. When a bad guy is coming at you, you won't have time to think about whether you want to kick his ass. In that situation, only one of you will be walking away.”

“I know,” Karen says, bristling at his tone. “But I’m not used to beating people up. Not like you.”

“That's why I'm here,” Frank says, almost softly. “I might not always be able to keep you safe.”

Karen flushes, angry at the implication that she can't look after herself, but it's the truth. He's already proven that.

“Fine. Then teach me,” she says loftily, lifting her chin defiantly. And he does.

~*~*~

Frank has her pinned. He's shown her how to get out, but all of her attempts to do it have been in vain. He is too strong; compared to him she is as weak as a child. It’s frustrating beyond belief.

“I can’t,” she gasps out for the umpteenth time, sweat beading her brow. “I can't overpower you.”

Frank, who is sitting on her legs and keeping her hands pinned above her head, looks at her with a set jaw.  
“Try again,” he tells her. “Use your core to get leverage.”  


It's the same advice he's been giving her for the last fifteen minutes. Karen bares her teeth, furious.  
“Its! Not! Working!” she almost screams through her teeth, straining futilely against his weight. She arches her back, pushes her body upwards in the middle, but the pain in her shoulders forces her back down.  
“Please Frank,” she says desperately, meeting his dark gaze. “Please, I can't do this. Let me up.”

 

Frank doesn't say anything, and for a moment there's something behind his eyes that makes Karen feel strangely exposed. Then it's gone and he pushes himself off her with a grunt. Karen sits up, rubbing her aching wrists and the place on her thighs where he had been sitting. It's warm, and she gets a strange feeling thinking about it. She is distracted by him offering his hand, and she lets him pull her off the ground.

She doesn't bother dusting her skirt this time; she's already filthy, and there's no coming back from it. Dirt has stained her white blouse, and her skirt is looking decidedly worse for wear. She puts it out of her mind.

“I’ll pin you differently,” Frank says, and gestures her closer.

“No,” Karen says, crossing her arms across her chest. “Let’s do something different. Teach me how to punch better.”

Shrugging, Frank slips into a boxing stance. “Okay, hit me in the stomach,” he tells her.

She does, throwing her weight behind it. He makes no move to dodge it, and it lands with a sickening thud. But his abdomen is as hard as rock, and she thinks her fist probably hurts more than his stomach does.

“Lock your wrist,” he tells her. “Hit with the flat of your knuckles, not the back of them.” He takes her hand, spreads her fingers. She has red marks across her knuckles and she knows, if she fought that way, her knuckles would be bruised and bloody before long. Frank curls her fingers, his hand warm, and pats his palm against the flat part of her fist. His other hand slides down to her wrist, long fingers wrapping around it.

“Lock it,” he says softly, and Karen wonders if his skin is burning as much as hers is. She does, but he’s staring at her and she’s staring at him, and something passes between them. Shuddering, Karen yanks her hand from Frank’s.

“Um, I’ll- let me try it like this,” she says, disconcerted.

Frank nods mutely, and he brings his feet together, baring his stomach.

Karen punches him again, locking her wrist the way he showed her. The impact is much more satisfying, and her knuckles don’t ache either. But Frank still doesn’t react, seemingly unfazed.

“Christ,” she says, her mouth twisting wryly. “Your body is like a brick wall.”

The words hang in the air between them and Karen flushes, embarrassed. Thinking about his body is… she shakes her head. It’s not an option. Even if he _is_ built like a machine, a broad-shouldered, handsome – she cuts her thoughts off there, annoyed at herself. Frank is a murderer.

Frank clearing his throat brings Karen back to the present. She swallows, ducking her head in embarrassment.

“Try and hit me in the face,” he says. “And don’t hold back; if you aren’t trying to kill me, it won’t be enough.”

To alleviate her discomfort, Karen obliges him without hesitation. She swings for him directly, aiming for his nose, which appears to already have been broken several times. He moves so fast that he becomes a blur, ducking out of the way. She tries to anticipate where he’ll come up, aims for the spot, but he twists out of the way and lands a brutal blow against the side of her arm, deflecting the punch. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Karen swings again, mouth twisting savagely, wanting nothing more than to _hurt_ him. In what she considers a stroke of luck, her third punch hits the bony part of Frank’s shoulder, and she’s already following it up with a left-handed blow, which only just misses his cheekbone as he sways to the side. Then, adrenaline coursing through her veins, Karen kicks out, twists her left foot and juts out her hip, bringing her leg crashing into Frank’s side. He can’t dodge, but he takes a hold of her thigh with both hands and pulls, bringing her crashing to the ground atop him.

Karen finds herself staring into Frank’s eyes. He’s startlingly close, so close that his breath ghosts across her cheeks, and his brown eyes are bright. For a moment, Karen is breathless. Her body is pressed against his; every part of hers that is touching him is on fire. There is a thigh between her legs, hot and hard, and his chest is crushing her breasts. He has a hand on her back, no doubt there to aid her fall, but it leaves a burning imprint in her skin, like a brand. Karen swallows heavily, and her tongue darts out to wet her lips. His eyes track the movement, almost predatorily, and heat rushes to her cheeks, and spreads through her body. A heartbeat passes, and Karen starts to scramble up, blushing. But Frank’s hand presses more firmly on her back, and the other is at the base of her skull, his fingers tangling in her hair. Before she can even think, before she can react, Frank brings her mouth crashing down against his.

Her protestations die in her throat, and she melt against Frank as his tongue flicks against her lower lip. She grants him access with a sigh, and her hands come up to grip his shoulders, where the muscle jumps underneath her hands. Deepening the kiss, and tightening his hold on her, Frank rolls them over, trapping Karen beneath him. He props himself up on one elbow, the other hand still against her back. She arches up into him, feeling his jacket graze against her chest. It makes her skin tingle, erupting in goose-bumps, and she moans lightly into Frank. With a deep-throated growl, Frank presses himself closer, his thin undershirt barely dulling the heat of his body against hers.

The kiss becomes rougher, and the hand at her back slides to her front, where Frank slides it up her shirt to palm at her breast over her bra. She gasps at the contact, the kiss breaking momentarily, and pushes herself harder against his hand. He is firm, but not rough, pulling the fabric of her bra aside to brush his thumb over her hardening nipple. She bites her lip, closing her eyes at the sensation and tipping her head back. Frank’s mouth is at her neck in an instant, licking along the vein pulsing in her neck. He flicks her ear lobe with his tongue, suckling on it gently. Karen squirms, the sensation sending ripples of electricity racing through her body. Her nails dig into Frank’s back, catching in the thick fabric of his jacket.

Mindlessly, she begins to push it off, shoving it off his shoulders forcefully. He pulls back with a wry grin and shrugs out of it, sitting up on his knees to pull it off completely. He makes to lean over her again, but Karen sits up to stops him.

“And your shirt,” she says, eyes roaming across his chest.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says and lust burns down her spine. She watches hungrily as he strips off his shirt, and the cotton singlet he wears underneath. Finally, he is shirtless before her, and she takes a moment to appreciate him. He is as muscular as she expected, all hard lines and rippling muscle. Karen reaches out and touches him, traces the lines of his torso, spends time mapping out the scars lacing across his abdomen. This time it’s his olive skin erupting in goose-bumps, her ministrations forcing him to shiver lightly. She looks at him, feels a smile spread across her face, and then he’s on her, kissing her without abandon.

Her shirt comes off next, so forcefully she worries it will tear, but the worry dissipates when Frank runs his hands down her sides, his thumbs nearly meeting in the middle. Then he unclips her bra, pushes it aside gently, and gazes down at her with a look on his face that she’s never seen before. The hard line of his jaw softens slightly, and his eyes are almost tender when he meets her gaze. Then he dips, taking her nipple into his mouth, and she can’t watch him anymore because her eyes are rolling back into her head. He’s skilled, tongue flicking over her nipple with just enough pressure to make her nerves tingle, but not too much as to hurt. His second hand kneads her neglected breast, his fingers caressing the smooth skin and making Karen’s breath hitch.

When he moves lower, her heart misses a beat. His tongue darts across her flat stomach, and his thumb catches on the waistband of her pencil skirt. He pushes it down easily, kissing just below her belly button – the muscle there jumps and she _giggles_. She can feel Frank smiling against her skin, and hopes to God he doesn’t see her blush when his tongue darts out and flicks across the top of her slit through her underwear. He does it again, eliciting a small, high-pitched noise from her. His big hands slide up her thighs, his thumbs straying teasingly close to the lips of her pussy, and she throws her head back and bites back a throaty noise. Then he’s hooking his thumbs into her underwear and pulling them down, exposing her to the cool air and to his gaze.

She wants to snap her thighs shut, push him away and tell him to quit staring, but she’s also desperate for his touch and that ultimately wins when he drags a blunt fingertip gently down her slit, his finger coming away wet. Karen stares, wide-eyed, as he leans down to spread her with his tongue, dipping into her wet folds and flicking the point of his tongue against her clit. She can’t help but moan then, a breathy noise that makes her feel utterly ridiculous.

Frank doesn’t stop, though, continues rubbing his tongue against the bundle of nerves, occasionally lowering his head to dip into her, tongue-fucking her. Whenever he does this, Karen feels weightless, like her entire body is floating. And then he suckles on her clit, draws it between his teeth – gently, ever gently – and Karen nearly _screams_. She curls in on herself, her hands finding their way to Frank’s head, where they scrape pleasantly against his buzzcut. He meets her gaze then, looks up from his place between her thighs and purposefully sinks his tongue inside her. She comes, just barely stopping her thighs from crushing his head, and writhes. She is still twitching with aftershocks when Frank aligns himself with her hole. He had shucked his pants at some point, she realises, and then he’s thrusting into her and her mind goes blank.

His dick is wide, and long enough, and Karen’s eyes roll into her head when he drags out. His girth hits her in all the right places, creating friction that, so soon after her first orgasm, threatens to send her over the edge again. She wraps her legs around his waist, moaning when it forces his dick deeper inside her. He thrusts in slowly once more, savouring it, before snapping his hips against her fast enough to make her gasp.

He sets a brutal pace, leaning over her, pushing her hips up until she’s moaning at every thrust. The pleasure is delicious; she rolls her hips to meet his, keening when his cock grinds against her g-spot. He’s grunting too, sharp points of sound when he bottoms out. Every grunt sends a shock of lust straight to her belly, where a coil of pleasure is building steadily.

After a minute of his brutal pace Frank grabs Karen’s side and rolls so she’s on top. He’s still thrusting, rolling his hips against her, but it’s not enough. So she put her hands flat against his chest and lifts herself up before slamming back down, moaning breathily. Frank makes a guttural noise and grips her hips, slamming into her. The angle is too much, too good, the pleasure making white flashes appear behind her eyelids. But it’s too good to stop, and Frank is fucking into her with abandon, his fingers digging into her hips. He reaches up to flick his thumb across her nipple, scraping his nails down her stomach and she comes again, her toes curling.

The force of her second orgasm hits her so hard that she collapses against Frank’s chest, breathing heavily. Her thighs shake, trembling with the aftershock. Frank’s still thrusting up into her, grunting with more frequency, and as he wraps his hands around her waist and fucks her, he loses his rhythm and comes too – _inside her_. Karen has a moment of panic, but the post-orgasm rush is too great and her mind is clouded. She kisses Frank, sloppily, tiredly, and he returns it much the same. Then she slides off of him, feeling his come run down her thighs, and curls against him on the cold concrete. Frank wraps an arm around her, rubbing circles into her back with his thumb. Within minutes, Karen’s asleep.

~*~*~

When she wakes, Frank is gone. Her clothes are folded neatly, Ben’s car is parked in the gravel lot outside, and a short note left on the driver’s seat reads, in an untidy scrawl:

_Stay safe._


End file.
